


Delirium

by snarknoir19



Category: Black Panther (2018), Black Widow (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Carrying, F/M, France (Country), M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones, The flu, Voyeurism, glaring, relationships, will they?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:47:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23098834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarknoir19/pseuds/snarknoir19
Summary: Peter saw it. Well, most of it.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Maria Hill/Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanov/T’Challa, T’Challa/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

Peter was there when it happened. Sick as a dog unfortunately with easily the worst case of the flu in human history. Ever.

He was laying in the hotel suite he shared with his teammates. Trapped in one of three adjoining bedrooms that opened to a common living room. 

Tired, feverish, and in between bouts of nausea and explosive diarrhea, and entirely bored. 

Some undercover operation this turned out to be. Finally, he gets the opportunity to shadow along on a sophisticated undercover op and he had to go and catch a miserable case of the flu. Which was why he was flat on his back, tucked into bed like a sick child. 

It was also why he was present to witness the alarming incident as it unfolded. 

The door to the main hallway burst open and immediately slammed shut. Natasha Romanov announced her return with an angry shout to T’Challa who’d yet to get back. Former International Spies apparently didn’t take flu headaches seriously. 

It didn’t take a genius to realize she was agitated and Peter was deeply appreciative that he was not the reason for her present attitude. This was the legendary Black Widow after all. There was a rumor she’d once intimidated someone to death. Admittedly: that information had come from Scott Lang, still...

She stalked across his limited field of view past his open door and moments later stalked back across. 

Watching her from beneath the cold compress on his head the rumor seemed entirely plausible. 

She was entirely ignoring him and was standing with arms crossed, glowering at the door that opened to the hallway. Peter tried to melt into the mattress. 

It was so hard not to stare. She was actually stunning. And he caught himself staring, again, at the swell of her ass before averting his eyes. She wouldn’t probably stab him for leering but she might hit him with a Widow’ bite. He didn’t want to think about what that might do to his bowels. 

but couldn’t help imagining a splatter painting of the whole room. A Jackson Pollack in brown. 

He was looking at her ass again when the door opened and their teammate entered. 

Peter still struggled to believe this was his life now: The actual Black Panther. T’Challa. Was standing in the room. Peter didn’t fully know the man’s power set but “elegant cool“ was definitely in there. It rolled off of him in waves. And it currently seemed to set Natasha off. 

“That waitress asked me to give you her number.” Natasha bit out rather icily Peter thought. 

“Oh? How kind of her. She certainly seemed friendly.” T’Challa observed helpfully. 

Peter actually flinched. Everything about this screamed ‘danger.’ 

This was going to become an incident. The ‘will they/won’t they’ question might get answered right here in this room. Confirmation that they had a ‘thing’ sort of. Peter knew, hell, everyone knew there was ‘something’ between them. It was obvious, but peter also knew that Natasha had denied it to Clint and Steve when they’d nervously asked. Never the less, everyone understood that there was some kind of ‘situation’ between them. And now, clearly, Natasha felt that someone had violated her expectations. 

Peter momentarily forgot about his sickness; He was witnessing something epic. 

The Black Panther and the Black Widow had a thing. Or maybe they were on the verge of a thing. Wasn’t the ‘verge of a thing’ actually, in fact, a thing? That was what Wanda had said. But so far neither one of them had stepped up. 

Could T’Challa not see what was happening here? Clearly the man’s power set did not include a spider sense. 

“So, would you like the phone number then?” Natasha had lifted her chin. She stood before him with her arms crossed and hip cocked and for a moment the silence stretched. 

Peter wondered if she needed to blink. Probably not. Spies. Peter thought that rattlesnakes looked less threatening than this right before striking. Shit, Tchalla was about to die. 

T’Challa regarded her warily. “Um, would you ‘like’ me to have the number?” He asked her with obvious uncertainty. 

Natasha pointed an incredibly dangerous finger at T’Challa and Peter waited for a sharpened blade to shoot from her fingertip or Russian spy lasers to burst from her eyes but nothing happened. Instead, T’Challa simply stood before her in an open, entirely too relaxed, posture. Again with the ‘elegant cool’ thing.

“You..I..” she began and stopped, interrupting what ever she was thinking. Instead, she opted to recross her arms and glare at him. 

And then she abruptly turned to leave and was almost into her room when it happened: T’Challa did ‘the thing.’ Peter wouldn’t be able to accurately describe the moment later. He would try of course, because it had been like something out of a movie only without the dramatic background music. 

T’Challa’s bearing shifted and he was, all at once, commanding and alpha and royal. And even before he spoke Natasha appeared to sense it as well, and turned. Or maybe something shifted between them at the same time and they were reacting to each other, because suddenly all of her fierce, hard lines were gone and she was standing there in the doorway abruptly, infinitely soft, and quiet and waiting. 

“Natasha...”

Peter actually flinched and couldn’t believe his ears. That had sounded like a command. But, no one. No. one. gave orders to the Widow. He couldn’t sink any further into the mattress and wished he could Antman himself into a speck and hide before the violence erupted before his eyes. 

There would be bloodshed now. Could he intervene? Should he call someone?

And then the bizarreness continued: T’Challa opened his arms and spoke to her calmly, effectionately: “Tasha.” It was a low, confident rumble with a clear expectation. 

And the energy in the room crackled. 

And then blowing out a slow exhale Natasha walked back, reached for him, and stepped into his embrace. 

Peter knew that his fever was bad if he was having hallucinations. He believed he was seeing Natasha Romanov standing there with T’Challa’s arms around her and he was rubbing small, slow circles into her back. And nobody was dying. 

From his vantage point and peeking through folds in his blanket he watched Natasha slide one hand up T’Challa’s chest. 

This was it: Soviet death grip. Poisoned nail throat slash. She would conjure a knife and drive it into his temple. But instead he heard:

“I don’t believe I want to give you her number...” Her voice was soft and muffled because she said it into his chest. “...and you’re an ass.”

And then, like a ridiculously cheesy scene from a lifetime flick; T’Challa bent and lifted her into his arms and Natasha actually went with it. 

But Peter wasn’t fooled. She could kill from that position too. 

Natasha curled herself into his embrace and T’Challa walked with her toward his room and quietly pressed the door closed behind them with a soft click. A moment later, giggling?

Peter let out the breath he’d been holding. 

Scott was never gonna believe this.


	2. The early bird.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just, no.

1:00 am

Peter’s text had read “carried her into his room.” Which, obviously was pure feverish drivel. The Black Widow, Natasha, he corrected himself, did not go in for that kind of sentimental crap. 

Anyone trying to ‘bridal carry’ her anywhere, let alone into a bedroom, would likely wind up in a triangle choke before they knew what hit ‘em. 

Satisfied that he was right and that the world actually made sense again, Sam shut off his phone and crept carefully back into bed. Maria was such a light sleeper.

........

6:30 am

Ringing. Again. Sam hurriedly reached for his phone not wishing to interrupt her. Damnit. Damnit. Fuck. Reaching over his coffee and stretching his fingertips he tried to shut it off and managed to put it on speaker phone. 

“Hey, um...I’m sorry to bother you sir, Mr. um, Falcon...” Peter’s slurry voice filled the bedroom. 

With a wet pop, Maria raised her head. Glared at Sam, glared at the phone, and rose to her feet from where she’d been kneeling. She ignored the horrified look on Sam’s face. And walked into the bathroom. Sam dropped his face to his hands as the shower came on. 

“....hello? Mr. Falcon? I have some information for you. You just gotta...”

Putting the phone to his ear Sam quietly counted to 10: “....good morning Peter.”


	3. Catches the worm.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Telling tales.

“...you don’t understand. He’s really, really mad.”

“...ok, yeah but.. back to the The Black Widow...”

“I mean; he was all stern and then all polite and then all stern again and then all ‘leaderly’...leaderlike?...”

“Got it. Focus Peter. The nudity...You were telli....”

“...and then i told him, I said...”

“PETER. Go back to the bedroom part, when their door swung open and she..”

“Just a minute....Scott. Wait,...Scott, it’s Redwing, the Falcon’s flyingdronebird thing is hovering outside my window. Redwing’s here!

“Hang on. Gonna put you on speaker...damn, it’s definitely Redwing.”

“Hey that’s weird....red laser pointer...trained on my privates...Scott? I think he’s still pretty upset.


	4. Reservations for two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cat is out of the bag.

They were scheduled to rendezvous up on the rooftop patio. She was probably already up there. Le Terrasses de Lyon. Clint hadn’t been here before but looking around at the impeccable accommodations he decided he would like to come back. Laura would love this place. 

It so happened that he had just completed a solo mission in Cannes, to the south, and was preparing to return to the states. He’d been packing when he got the call from Natasha. 

Could she ask a favor? Would he mind swinging up to Lyon to pick up a ‘package’ for Maria?

He knew the package contained deeply incriminating evidence tying some local socialites to an international slavery ring. 

It was a quick detour to meet up with her and pick up the surveillance materials she’d collected. She would have returned with them herself but had decided to take a few days and linger at the hotel. Looking around he couldn’t blame her. 

He spotted her at a corner table on the rooftop patio. 

She was sitting in the morning sunlight gazing out over the city and Clint was struck by how peaceful and relaxed she appeared. 

He watched her from the shadow of the doorway for a moment before stepping out onto the deck. Her deep blue dress set off her hair perfectly and he thought she looked for all the world like someone on an old Hollywood set with the brilliant blue sky behind her like that. He figured she knew. 

He made it to within 15 feet of her before she visibly startled and whipped her gaze in his direction.

Clint narrowed his eyes and quickly covered his reactions: the Black Widow had been deeply distracted. So very distracted that he’d almost walked to within arms reach undetected. Physical attack range. 

What the hell Nat. 

“What?” She asked reaching for her drink. 

“Nothing. You look good.”

“Good?” She smirked. “I look better than that.”

Clint grinned sitting down. “So, I’m a currier now?”

He glanced at the backpack on the chair beside her. “Is that my package?”

“Yes, and make sure Nick understands I’ll be off grid for a few days.”

“You here for the view or the food?” Clint gazed out over the city. 

“For all of it. I plan on...”

Her phone buzzed interrupting whatever she’d been about to say and Clint watched her scan the screen. And he saw her eyes widen and she actually turned a shade of pink and since when had she begun wearing necklines like ‘that’ on her down time?

And then he watched as she quickly recovered her composure and within the space of a breath she was cool and composed again. But what had triggered that reaction ? 

“So, I guess you’re anxious to be going?” She asked.

Smooth. He noted.

And then she flicked a glance back across the the patio toward the restaurant door where other guests meandered about. 

Clint realized that she was expecting someone. More specifically she was expecting someone who she preferred to keep secret. Clint mulled that one over briefly before reaching for the parcel. 

“Right. So, we’ll see you back in uniform in a week or so?”

“Tell Maria I’ll bring her something from the bakery I told her about.” 

He could tell by the tightness of her smile that she was tense. Natasha was more than a little bit keyed up about something, or someone. But, who the hell could rattle Natasha? 

When he looked back at her she was watching him and he knew that she had read him. Natasha new that he had seen her crimson and attempt to hide it. And then didn’t call him out. And didn’t offer a comment.

Curious. Whatever was going on Natasha was deciding to keep it to herself. She was aware that he suspected something and clearly trusted him to leave it alone. So that is what he would do. 

Grabbing the bag he stood and leaned to press a kiss to the crown of her head.

“I’ll tell Laura I saw you.”

He made his way downstairs with the package tucked under his arm. Through a break in the crowd stepped Tchalla. Clint watched him nod to a staff member, a very attractive brunette who hurried over to him. Clint watched, amused when the young woman leaned closer than was strictly necessary. Clint was able to read her lips from across the room and picked out ‘friend’ and ‘patio’ and ‘waiting for you.’

So, it was T’Challa who’d sent the mysterious text that caused his friend to blush so fiercely. 

Clint watched the warm smile spread across the man’s face and watched while he thanked the woman and made off in the direction indicated. 

Clint smiled and continued on his way. Natasha would tell him when she was ready. Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggestions for additional witnesses?

**Author's Note:**

> Love imagining them through the eyes of their teammates. Comments are so appreciated and suggestions are welcome.


End file.
